"The Last Word" by Alicia K. Rating: R, maybe NC-17 Category: A, MSR Spoilers: "Never Again" Summary: A fight, a club, a confrontation. Feedback: spartcus1@msn.com XXX God! God DAMN it!! She made him so fucking mad. She drove him crazy. She drove him wild. She made him want to grab her by her red hair, yank her head back, and kiss her exquisite mouth, kiss her hard, kiss her long, kiss her deeply. But every time he found the nerve to tell her as much, they got into a fight about one stupid thing or another. Fights that were occurring more and more frequently lately. Not that he should complain. Seeing her strength and fire made him secretly smile, relieved and grateful that she was alive, cancer-free, and back to her wonderful self. Then he would remember that it was her strength and fire that made him so frustrated, so crazy, so hot ... And he was back to where he had started. Time to put an end to this. Just once, he wanted to have the last word, and he wanted that last word to be his mouth closing over hers. This wasn't over yet. He grabbed his keys, threw his battered leather jacket on over his gray T-shirt, and headed to her apartment. He arrived just in time to see her practically running down the steps to her car. His mouth dropped open. She had changed into jeans and one of those soft, button-down sweaters that were cut so low, that offered a teasing, shadowed hint of her breasts when she bent over. Where was she going? Did she have a date? Fox Mulder abruptly closed his mouth and followed her as she tore away from the curb with a screech of rubber. *************************************** Fucker. Bastard. She didn't know anyone who drove her up the wall as much as he did. He pissed her off, got the Irish in her raging, absolutely inflamed her. God, she wanted him. After each of their frequent arguments, which were rapidly escalating into fights, she chastised herself. Well, probably because she loved him. More than that, she honestly believed that they were meant for one another. Two halves of a whole. And because she couldn't walk away without knowing what he tasted like, without feeling him deep inside her. She pushed the pedal further, the speed putting a small, satisfied smile on her lips. ************************************************* A nightclub. Looked pretty nondescript. He popped a sunflower seed between his lips, watching her enter. He'd wait a few minutes before following. What if she was meeting someone? He knew too damn well that he wouldn't be able to just peacefully leave. Masochist that he was, he would lurk in the shadows, torturing himself, watching as some asshole put his hands all over her. He had never considered himself possessive or territorial. Not until she had come into his life and etched herself on his soul, his heart. Mulder hopped out of the car and headed inside. He'd be goddamned if he was going to let some guy - any guy- touch his Scully. Tonight he was finally going to be the model G-man and get his man. Woman. Whatever, he thought, smiling loopily at the bouncer, who sneered slightly in return. ****************************************************** The music was loud, the bass thudding deep in her chest. Good. She wanted to drown out all thoughts of Mulder, especially his damn voice. That low, silky baritone ... AAARGH!! She nudged her way through the crowd and caught the bartender's attention with a broad smile. ****************************************************** There she was, at the bar. He had gone up to the second level, where he could observe her. She was easy to spot, her red hair like a beacon. As he watched, she tipped back her head for a long pull from the dark amber bottle, the pale skin of her graceful neck offered up to him. She didn't appear to be looking for anyone, which gave him great relief. In fact, she seemed to be in her own little world, not noticing any of the other people there. She was oblivious to the stares and approving smiles that came her way, only looked ahead with a tiny frown creasing her brow. With a pleased smile, he wandered off to get a beer of his own. ****************************************************** She wasn't totally oblivious. She knew guys were looking at her. She just didn't want to be bothered with the whole stupid game right now - smile, flirt, ignore, tease ... Or did she? She wanted to forget about Mulder, didn't she? And what better way than to indulge in some harmless flirtation? Hell of a lot less painful than running off to get a tattoo and almost sleeping with a lunatic. Not that she regretted the tattoo. She liked having the reminder that she was more than Agent Scully-Ice- Queen-Mrs. Spooky-boring-old-professional-by-the-book Dana with no life. She let her eyes wander around the bar as she drank from her beer again. Well hell, the guy right next to her was looking her way with a smile. He wasn't leering, didn't look slimy . . . in fact, he looked damn fine. Tall, built, handsome, open face, dark hair that curled softly, blue eyes . . . Of course, Mulder had those gorgeous hazel eyes that changed color with his mood or the light, looking right into her like no one else could . . . That did it. ****************************************************** Hey, wait a minute . . . Mulder paused, beer halfway to his lips, as he watched her drain her beer and turn to the man beside her. No, he silently groaned. Not this dipwad in the Gap clothes. Only he could make a half-assed joke about something that was ripping his heart out. She was smiling, one of her rare, heart-stopping smiles. How many times had he been the lucky recipient of that small slice of heaven? He could count them on one hand, if he stopped to think about it. And here she was, giving the full wattage to a total stranger. Ed Jerse popped into his head, and he stamped down the urge to run down to her and shake her violently, demanding answers. Why Ed? Why a tattoo? And why the hell didn't she look at him that way? ****************************************************** "Wanna dance?" "Sure." As long as I don't have to touch you, she thought. I don't think I could handle being touched right now. Shit, I might explode. Thankfully, the music was fast as well as loud. Double yee-ha. Okay, big fella. Stand back and give me room. I've got a lot of energy to work off. ****************************************************** "Wanna dance?" Mulder turned, startled, to see a woman beside him, a hopeful smile on her face. He smiled apologetically. Sorry, Sweetheart. You're pretty, but you're not Scully. "Maybe later, okay?" He dismissed her with a turn of his head, only to find that she had moved from her spot by the bar. Shit shit shit where'd she go? He blinked a few times against the smoky air, scanning the bar. There. A flash of red moving towards the dance floor. Dance floor. Oh hell. Easy, Mulder. It's fast music, you don't need to touch to dance to this. But as he looked at the other dancers, he saw many entwined limbs. Oh shit. He closed his eyes, setting his empty beer on the floor by the railing. When he opened them again, she was dancing. Holy shit. ****************************************************** Scully forgot who she had walked onto the dance floor with. She didn't care. There was nothing now. Nothing but the pounding music and the movement of her body. God, it felt so good to let go! She shook her hips, swung her arms, twirled, every cell in her body feeling the sexual pulse of the bass-driven music. Just knowing that she was going to live was reason enough to dance for the rest of her life. She let loose a joyful smile, tossing her head back. Mulder who? ****************************************************** ******** Jesus God damn fucking Christ, she was the most beautiful and sexy woman he had ever seen. He was transfixed as he watched her whip herself into what could only be described as a sexual frenzy. He had to get closer. He had to see her face. From the edge of the dance floor, he could easily watch her. He saw the look of exquisite pleasure on her face and knew that's what she looked like in the midst of making love. He had never wanted anyone - or anything - more in his entire life. ****************************************************** She spun and spun, arms raised above her head, hair falling over her eyes. With every pump of her hips, she imagined herself kicking Mulder squarely in the ass. That fine, sleek ass . . . She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, her rhythmic fantasy changing to envision his hands on her hips, moving her up and down over him... "Whoa! Hey, dancing girl!" He grabbed her wrist in midair, bringing her to a dizzy halt, back to a startled, flushed reality. "What's this?" His hand reached under the back of her sweater, and she froze until she realized he had seen her tattoo. She smiled coyly. "What do you think it is?" "A tattoo. Can I see it?" She turned and obligingly inched her sweater higher for his inspection. ****************************************************** He was touching her. Touching the skin she exposed. Fleetingly, he wished that he had his gun. What the hell was she doing? Gapman's fingers brushed against the skin of her lower back, and his fists clenched. Her tattoo. That fucking tattoo. She was showing it to him, letting him touch it. He had only seen a quick flash of it when she had been checked out after the Ed Jerse incident. He had yearned to see it, touch it, run his tongue over it. ****************************************************** As his fingers rubbed against her skin, she let out an impatient sigh. Okay, buddy, you've seen the damn thing. Feel free to come up for air. Let me go back to my little Mulder fantasy. Ow! She flinched as his nail scraped her skin. Christ, could you handle me any rougher? Mulder wouldn't touch you like this, a small voice told her. She closed her eyes with a smile, pretending that the hands on her were his. Oh yes, Mulder . . . Right there, Mulder . . . She opened her eyes, and blue met hazel. ****************************************************** Fuck. She was looking straight at him. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck . . . ****************************************************** Oh. My. Fucking. God. Her jaw dropped. Mulder was there. Watching her. She stood stock still, eyes wide as they stared at each other. He followed her. He had fucking followed her. Her mouth clamped shut as her fury built, blood pounding through her veins. ****************************************************** Mulder watched the rage growing in her, the tension of her body, the color in her cheeks, the fire in her eyes. Christ, he felt it from across the room. What do I do now? Think, Mulder, think. Only one solution popped into his frantic thoughts, and he acted on it. Quickly. ***************************************************** Scully's eyes followed him as he high-tailed it out the door. Coward! She grew even more enraged. She spun around abruptly, facing her Mulder- substitute. "I have to go." She was halfway to the door before he could even respond. ****************************************************** Coward! Fucking coward! He sat on his leather couch in the dark, hating himself more and more by the minute. Smooth, Fox. She sees you, and you break into a panicked run. So much for having the last word. He leaned forward with a groan and beat his forehead steadily against the table. ****************************************************** Shit. She sat in her car outside his apartment. Why was she here? Did she want to kick his ass all the way to the J. Edgar Hoover building? Or run inside and fuck his brains out? Both. Well, the fun was just beginning. Might as well go see what happens. ****************************************************** A knock. "Mulder." Pause, harder knock. "Let me in." He sat forward, head in his hands. Now what? The sound of her key in the lock answered his question. The door slammed behind her, and he looked up tentatively. God, she was beautiful when she was angry. Furious. Fucking pissed. "You've never shown me your tattoo, Agent Scully." He broke the silence with a self-effacing half grin. Her head bent, lips tightened, as she considered that. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Why did you follow me?" she countered, her voice deceptively calm. She raised her eyes to his again, slender eyebrow cocked. He leaned back against the couch. "Is this a trick question?" Careful, Mulder, he cautioned himself. Get a grip, Stop picturing her undulating body. Watch yourself, Scully. Stay in control. Stare him down, no matter how incredibly sexy he looks, no matter how hot his eyes make you. Damn. Too late. She tore her eyes away, heat rising in her cheeks again, although not from anger any longer. She sighed heavily. "Mulder . . ." Their silence grew in length and size, becoming heavy and painful. It made her brain reel like it was about to explode. I have to get out of here, she thought, and turned to go. "When did our silences become so uncomfortable?" She stopped, but didn't face him. She didn't have to answer. She knew. Since her cancer had gone into remission. Since the things that had gone unspoken between them for so long couldn't go unspoken any more. She leaned her forehead against the door. "I don't know," she said softly. She heard the soft creak of the leather as he stood up. She heard the floorboards groan under his feet. Her whole body tensed, every nerve straining for a sense of him. In an instant, her anger had melted into arousal, and it built as he approached. She pressed her palm against the door, trying to still the trembling. Oh God she could feel him . . . he was so close . . . Her lips parted, her breath escaping in hot puffs. He leaned in, placing his hands beside hers, his arms on either side of her. "Yes, you do," he murmured, his lips just above her ear. "We both do." His hips touched hers lightly, and he heard her breath increase its pace. All he wanted to do was bury his face in her hair, and breathe in her intoxicating scent. That, and make love to her for the rest of his life. What he did do was drop to his knees and lift a trembling hand to the hem of her sweater. It took all she had not to fall beside him and kiss him, take that pouty lower lip between her own and suck. His fingers brushed her skin, and she bit her lip, his light touch inflaming her. A snake. A snake circling in on itself. He touched her hot skin, tracing a finger over the dark ink. He held back, torturing himself with only the lightest of touches. No. Not enough. God, nothing could ever be enough. His mouth was on her. Oh Jesus oh God . . . Her mind reeled, a breathy moan escaped her lips. Nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of his hot, open mouth pressed to her skin. His tongue flicked into the curve at the base of her spine, then traced around the design. She wasn't sure if this was heaven or hell. He sat back on his heels and looked up at her as she slowly turned to him. He saw that desire made her even more beautiful than anger - porcelain skin flushed, blue eyes shining, lips parted moistly, breasts rising and falling with her ragged breaths. "Were you watching me dance?" Her voice was husky. He rose to his knees, cupping her hips in his hands. "Yes." The eyebrow shot up. "Did you like what you saw?" "Yes." The word tore from his throat in a ragged whisper. And then she was on her knees before him, her hands grabbing his face, moving into his hair. Their breath mingled between them, and he fleetingly wondered if this was real, if she was really here. "Kiss me, Scully," he whispered, and their mouths met hungrily, hands clutching tighter, pulling closer. His taste flooded her mouth, and it was achingly familiar, as if this was not their first kiss, but the thousandth. Her hands pushed his jacket from his shoulders, and he shrugged it off. She tore her mouth away from his, yanking his T-shirt from his jeans. "Is this why you followed me?" "Is this why you came here?" he shot back, pulling her sweater over her raised arms. His eyes lowered to her lace-covered breasts. Scully's breasts. Black lace. God help me. His hands cupped her gently, almost reverently, and she pushed herself into his palms. More. More, I want more. She reached up to unhook her bra and slipped it off, flinging it aside. With a soft sigh, he closed his lips over a swollen tip, his tongue stroking. His name escaped her lips on a moan, and he pressed his hips to hers, feeling her heat against him. She nudged his arms up, pushing his shirt up and over his head, following its route with her tongue. He cursed under his breath, reaching down to unfasten his jeans. "Let me," she breathed, stroking him lightly through the denim. Clutching her head as he kissed her, he leaned back to the floor, drawing her with him, lifting his hips so she could strip him of his clothes, lying naked beneath her, her tongue licking at the corners of his mouth . . . He let out a deep groan. "Christ . . . Scully!" She climbed to her feet, hooking her thumbs under the waistband of her jeans and panties and yanking them down. She stood above him, naked, a goddess. "Beautiful," he murmured, reaching up to her with a crazy grin. She smiled, taking his hand and drawing him to her. Again he knelt, pressing his face to her small, soft belly. Reaching between her thighs, he encountered her, wet and heavy for him. He stroked slowly, watching her face carefully. "Scully." Her eyes opened, looked down at him. "You really are a redhead." He slid a finger inside her slick folds. Her responding laugh was a half-moan, and she dropped beside him again. "Now," she said, her small hand gripping him firmly. Condom, he thought, but then he remembered that Scully, his beautiful Scully, was barren. He hovered over her, touching her cheek tenderly. She smiled, eyes glazed with desire. She knew, they both knew, that the other was healthy, had been healthy with each FBI exam. But still she said, "I didn't sleep with him." He kissed her, touched, relieved, and ecstatic at her admission. Touching his forehead to hers, he carefully entered her, feeling her stretch around him, welcoming him, accepting him. Heaven. Ah, God . . . Kissing her deeply, he moved within her. Her breath hitched in her throat. He was so big, she felt so full. Christ, it was glorious. She sensed his care and gripped the back of his neck, bringing his face to hers again. "More," she whispered. "Don't want to hurt you . . ." was his murmured reply. "Mulder . . ." she moaned. "Please." She ran her tongue over his mouth before plunging inside, sucking on his lower lip fiercely. He thrust harder, lifting her thighs higher, going deeper inside her. She cried out into his mouth before her head fell back, rocking side to side as the cry became a low, guttural moan. He felt her begin to clench around him. "Dana. Look at me." She obliged, her eyes dark, pupils dilated. Her swollen lips glistened, her color high . . . He had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. He slammed into her, and her orgasm hit, her muscles gripping him tightly. Her body shuddered as her low moans became a frenzied cry of his name. The sound of her voice crying his name in ecstasy was enough to send him spilling over into her. "Scullyscullyscullyscully . . ." he panted, clutching her hips to him as he buried himself inside her. "Dana . . ." She stroked his face, breathing unsteadily beneath his spent body. "Dana." We fit so perfectly, she thought, cradling his head in the crook of her neck. His lips touched her throat softly. "I love you." His words were barely a whisper. She smiled, tightening her arms around him. "I know, Mulder." She kissed his temple. "I know." He raised his head to look at her with a tender smile. "Do you always have to have the last word?" Scully just smiled. END